


Your Love Belongs to Me

by bhaer



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Class Differences, Egregious historical inaccuracies, M/M, Male Slash, Ripoffs of classic jazz tunes, Spider hunting for sport and pleasure, Tolkien characters inhabit a bizarre Julian Fellowes hellscape, old cars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bhaer/pseuds/bhaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That was always the way with those highborn dukes and earls and what-have-you, looking clean and proper in their morning coats when they’d just had a footman pull them off in the library. That was always how it went in novels, anyway. Not that Bard was keen on novels that featured aristocrats being sodomized, but one picked up these sorts of things, especially when one worked in service."<br/><i>or,</i> Bard is Thranduil's chauffeur, and they have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Love Belongs to Me

The Sindar Elves of Mirkwood were known for their taste in wine, and their predisposition to hoard large quantities of white jewels. All this, according to Alfrid, made them sound dashed unpleasant, and Bard was inclined to agree. He had no taste for Dorwinian liquor, preferring the local ales of Lake-town, and had no use for jewels, white or otherwise. Privately he chuckled to himself over the high likelihood that the Sindar Lord, wife dead for nearly ten years, was a buggerer at heart.

That was always the way with those highborn dukes and earls and what-have-you, looking clean and proper in their morning coats when they’d just had a footman pull them off in the library. That was always how it went in novels, anyway. Not that Bard was keen on novels that featured aristocrats being sodomized, but one picked up these sorts of things, especially when one worked in service.

(Not that Bard had anything against men who desired men. He'd had rather a crush on Alfrid during a particularly dark period after his wife's death.)

He was entering his twentieth year in service, and feeling restless. It was the longest romance of his life, certainly the most enduring, even if he had no great affection for the noble class as individuals. There were times he hated the lot of them. But, for all their opulence and buggering, those gentle lords and ladies kept his children fed and clothed, provided him with an opportunity to tinker with expensive cars, and could always be counted on for an amusing eccentricity, mimicked to no end in the servants’ hall.

Upon his arrival at the back door of Mirkwood Manor, Bard was greeted by a tall, blond young man with high cheekbones and a slender figure. Judging by the fellow’s jade stickpin and the rather prodigious length of his hair, Bard assumed this was one of his employers.

“You’re the new chauffeur,” the young man said by way of introduction. As Bard was wearing the chauffeur’s uniform, in the family colors, it was a reasonable assumption.

“I’m Bard Bowman,” Bard said. “I’m terribly sorry to be so late but the train was rather slow in setting off.” This was a lie; his youngest, Sigrid, had cried when it came time to say goodbye. The young man did not look too bright though, so Bard thought his falsehood would probably go undetected.

“Of course. The train is often late.” Then, after an awkward pause, the gentleman reached forward to clasp Bard’s hand. His palms were exceptionally smooth. “My father is so glad to have found someone so highly recommended. He does rather a lot of trading and we need a man who knows the area. I’m Legolas, of course.” It was said with a little laugh, and a quick smile, as if Legolas was ashamed to smile at a servant.

“Thank you, m’lord. I’m very glad for the chance to serve such an old family.” It was polite nonsense, but the sort of nonsense that aristos liked to hear, and sure enough, Legolas brightened considerably. Bard could not very well say “I am glad for a job that puts me on the road more often than not, and pays well enough to apprentice my son, and save for my daughters’ dowries.” He had to soothe this ridiculous young man’s ego, as if Bard Bowman cared twopence how old the family was. Too old, he thought. Living centuries in this grim forest stronghold, getting steadily richer and drunker and madder. He’d heard rumors of the Sindar’s eccentricities and this Legolas lad seemed to confirm the more innocent ones, namely that they were odd and wore funny clothes.

The servants’ quarters appeared the same as at any other great house: sparse and in need of a good coat of paint. Legolas looked uncomfortable standing in Brad’s tiny room. The two of them barely fit, and there was no window. It was a relief when Legolas excused himself to do some studying and trotted away, his golden locks trailing behind him.

Unpacking did not take long. Bard had only a handful of personal effects. He stuck his few, treasured photographs on the wall by his bed with the dual intentions of seeing them as he lay down to sleep, as well as covering an unsightly rip in the wallpaper. They didn’t cheer the surroundings much. His lively, clever family looked dour and stern in black and white.

Bard’s first task didn’t come until nearly teatime, when he was instructed by a hassled-looking maid to pick up Lord Thranduil’s cousins, the Lord and Lady Galadhrim of Lothlórien. They were to dine with the family and stay over the week-end for the hunt. Mirkwood, the maid said midway through catching her breath on the landing, was simply teeming with spiders and nothing pleased the lords so much as to bring a few home to be mounted above the hearth.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Bard asked, pulling on his boots. The maid laughed.

“Probably, but it amuses them.” She held out her hand. “I’m Tauriel.”

“Bard. Is Lothlórien close-by?”

“Very. You’ll be back in hardly no time at all!”

 

* * *

 

This was perhaps not entirely accurate. It was almost dark by the time Bard pulled into Lothlórien's long driveway to find the Lord and Lady Galadhrim waiting for him, dressed in white furs and looking unhappy.

“The Hour Is Late When You Have Come To Us,” Lady Galadriel intoned as Bard helped her into the car.

“Terribly sorry, m’lady. The spiders tried to attack me, m’lady.” Brad showed her his cheek, which was bleeding profusely onto his collar.

“Ah Yes. They Are Belligerent Today. It Will Be A Good Hunt.” Lady Galadriel sighed at the sky. “Drive On, Mortal Man. Your Life Is Not So Long That You Can Afford To Dawdle.”

So, newly aware of his mortality, Bard pressed the gas with perhaps a little too much force.

“Be Careful,” Lady Galadriel called. “I Sense There Is Much To Be Controlled Within You.”

 

* * *

 

By the time the Lord and Lady Galadhrim were comfortably intoxicated with the family, Bard had washed himself of blood and spider webbing, and the car (a glistening Mearas 500 that made Bard almost wild with avariciousness) was tucked away safely, it was midnight. Bard tried to make himself comfortable in his new lodgings, pillow over his head to block out the incessant singing radiating from the parlor. Lord Celeborn was particularly fond of performing a music hall standard. His voice was stern but not particularly well-suited to belting, but it was pleasant to fall asleep to a familiar tune.

 

_I’m the sheik of Teleri_

_Your love belongs to me_

_At night, when you’re asleep_

_Into your tent I’ll creep_

_The stars that shine above_

_Will light our way to love!_

_You’ll rule this land with me,_

_The sheik of Teleri_

 

Bard dreamt of elven kings, lounging in silk tents on a floor of gemstones. When he awoke, the sun had only just begun to peek through the mist and dark, and the great house was still. He missed his children, and the melody was still reverberating in his head.

**Author's Note:**

> UM? UM? I have no excuse.
> 
> Obviously there is no song called 'The Sheik of Teleri,' because I substituted 'Araby' for 'Teleri' because they're elves, ah hah hah? Let's all laugh.


End file.
